Walls of Death and Time: part 2

(Read part 1 HERE )

Another sold out show at the former Hyperion, another packed house. Everywhere I turn are shallow people dressed in their shallow finery, blathering on about their shallow little lives. I’ve watched this scene acted out thousands of times before. It plays out the same way every night with different actors each time, but tonight is different. Tonight I watch with something I thought had died a hundred years ago: hope.

The rekindled flame burns brighter than the marquee lights. Somewhere in this crowd is my chance at redemption, but where? Dozens of blondes pass; none of them are Veronica. With each passing moment, nagging doubt grows. What if she doesn’t come back? What if she lied to me, just like Lilah?

No, I silence the threatening thoughts. She’s a writer - a real one, not like the sob sisters of my era whose pens committed more assassinations than any gun. If she’s worth her salt, she’ll follow the story wherever it leads. Besides, she’s stuck with me this far. Why turn back now?

I find her in the same place as last night, standing in front of the display on the far wall. Her discerning blue eyes bore into the photo of Lilah Thorne lying dead among shards of broken glass, futilely searching for some clue that went overlooked for a hundred years. “What happened to you, Lilah?”

Those eyes flick to the wall of tabloid clippings. For my own sanity, I could never bring myself to read them at the time. I know what they said anyway… endless lines of black and white painting me an abuser and murderer. Suddenly she gasps and points out something even I never noticed. “They’re all by the same writer!”

A dumpy-looking redhead stands in front of the photograph of my murder at the other end of the display, talking into a smartphone. I wouldn’t have paid her any mind, had it not been for Veronica’s narrowing eyes and clenching hands.

“I feel sorry for everyone involved in this case except Edward Mallory,” the redhead says with a smug smile at the screen. “The legal system may have let him off with a slap on the wrist, but karma has a way of evening the playing field. If you ask me, Mallory had it coming. Good riddance! So do you agree that justice was served? Let me know in the comments!”

Veronica lets out a cold sardonic laugh. “I absolutely do not, I’ll let you know now.”

The redhead turns away, but Veronica steps in front of her, eyes burning with angry fire. “Justice was served?! Honestly, do you even hear yourself? So murder is fine as long as it happens to someone unlikable… What kind of backwards morality is that?”

“How can you say that? Lilah Thorne was the victim of a violent crime-”

“SO WAS EDWARD MALLORY!” Veronica’s rising voice invites stares from the crowd, but she doesn’t back down. “Not only that, he was the victim of false accusations for the rest of his life and beyond.”

The redhead scoffs. “Why do you sympathize with him?”

“Why do you believe everything you read?” Veronica points to the tabloid articles on the wall. “Ever notice that all the articles on this wall come from the same place? Same newspaper, same writer.”

It’s obvious from the redhead’s dumbfounded expression that she hasn’t. “Don’t you think that’s the least bit suspicious? A scandal like Lilah Thorne’s death would’ve attracted lots of media attention, so why quote only one source?”

“Probably the only one brave enough to tell the truth-”

“Or the only one trying to hide it. If you’d bothered to do your homework, you’d know that Edward Mallory was a kind man who went out of his way to mentor rising stars. Lilah Thorne, on the other hand, was a gambler and extortionist. A quick trip to the library would’ve told you that.”

Veronica opens her purse and pulls out a stack of papers, copies of old newspaper articles. “It’s all there in black and white, multiple accounts from every newspaper of the time except that one.” She jerks her head at the framed clippings on the wall.

The redhead doesn’t bat an eye. “You’re just victim-blaming!”

“And you’re just delusional.”

“He was a predator!”

“So are you.” The redhead blinks dumbly, and Veronica elaborates. “You;re a predator preying on the reputation of someone who can’t defend himself. Not because you care, oh no. You want the pat on the back for being right to distract yourself from the truth. For all your influence online, you’re just a nobody in real life… so insecure that you have to assassinate someone else’s character to build up your own.”

The redhead’s lip trembles. For one fleeting moment, I half-expect her to start crying. So does Veronica, judging by the smug smile on her face - an exact copy of the redhead’s smile for her camera. “What’s wrong, little red? Hit too close to home?”

“Mallory deserved what he got, and so does anyone who supports him.”

Fine! Bring. It. On.”

****************************

Watching the confrontation from afar confirms what I already knew: Veronica is the key to my exoneration. A storm of mixed emotions swirls inside. I don’t know whether to be touched by Veronica’s willingness to defend my honor, shocked by the intensity of her anger, impressed by the verbal beating she gave that redhead, or mildly amused by all of it. Society has changed in the past 100 years more than I thought. In my day, it was the man’s job to defend the woman’s honor. Now it appears to be the other way around!

The girls’ faces are barely inches away from each other now. It’s only a matter of time before they come to blows. I can’t help but laugh to myself. My mother once said I’d have women fighting over me someday, I doubt this was what she had in mind!

The laughter turns to panic as I notice a security guard approaching. If he gets involved, it’ll come down to the redhead’s word against Veronica’s, and if he chooses the wrong side… If Veronica gets kicked out or, heaven forbid, banned from the Hyperion, there goes my chance. I can’t let that happen!

Retreating into the walls, I touch a tangle of wires. Sparks fly from the grand chandelier overhead as if flickers and dies, followed by every other light in the theater. Several patrons scream in the darkness.

“Hey, who turned out all the lights?”

“What’s going on? Is the power out?”

“Can’t be! Look outside, the streetlights are still on.”

“Stuff like this happens all the time here! Lights out, elevators malfunctioning, trapdoors opening at random…”

“Must be Edward Mallory’s ghost!”

“Who?”

“Some old-timey actor who offed his costar, supposedly haunts the place. Didn’t you see the pictures? There’s a whole wall of ‘em!”

“Not that old urban legend again! It’s just the old wiring.”

Old wiring, am I? One good thing about old wiring - it’s much more reactive to supernatural forces than its modern counterpart, as the patrons are about to see for themselves.

“Ladies and gentlemen, PLEASE DO NOT PANIC!” a voice blares over the intercom. “Tonight’s performance is delayed due to technical difficulties. We expect to have the lights restored in thirty minutes’ time. Please remain in the lobby-”

Touching a different wire is all it takes to make the intercom emit a high-pitched otherworldly whine. Soon the crowd will hear a different voice booming throughout the theater. “VERONICA BAIRD, PLEASE MEET YOUR PARTY BY THE ELEVATOR!"

****************************

Frightened murmurs ripple through the crowd, and It isn’t long until I see Veronica’s face illuminated by the bluish glow of her phone. “Why-?”

She cuts me off before I finish the question. “I couldn’t let her get away with saying such horrible things about you!”

“No, I meant, why did you feel called to defend my honor?”

“Because you’re the only person - ghost - one who’s believed in me in a very long time. It’s only fair that I believe in you too.”

How is one supposed to react to that? All I can do is watch from behind the walls, at a loss for words as her expression turns wistful. The long awkward silence between us is finally broken when she asks, “Did you mean it, when you complimented my writing?”

“Yes!” If only she’d lived in my era, I could’ve helped her. WIth my connections, she could’ve had a job at any paper in New York. She could’ve been a real journalist, not just an entertainment blogger.

She nods, smiling slightly. “Okay, I believe you. I also believe you didn’t kill Lilah Thorne… so who or what did?”

If only she knew how many times I’ve asked myself that question over the past hundred years! “I have no idea. All I know is it happened a couple of days after our argument. It was a birthday party for me; Lilah planned everything. I thought she would cancel after we fought, but she showed up anyway.”

“So it was all water under the bridge?”

A bitter laugh escapes me.“There was no such thing with Lilah Thorne. She turned up on the arm of some bartender she hired, rough-looking brute by the name of Ryker. I trust you know that name.”

Understanding dawns in Veronica’s eyes. “Ryker, as in Max Ryker? Your murderer?”

Looks like someone’s done her homework, unlike the redhead she accosted in the lobby tonight! “Lilah claimed she brought him along to provide a little extra fun, if you catch my meaning.” The look in her eyes tells me she does. “Of course, it was all hogwash. Lilah knew I didn’t drink, not even before Prohibition happened. She brought Ryker to get back at me. She hardly left his side the entire night, always hanging on to him, kissing him. When I caught them together, I learned she’d been two-timing me with Ryker all along.”

Veronica remains silent, her eyes reflecting what words cannot… anger, sorrow, curiosity. So many emotions and an unspoken question: What happened next?

They say time heals all wounds, but it’s a lie. The pain of Lilah’s betrayal is still as raw as it was when it happened a hundred years ago. As much as I’d like to, I can’t hide from it this time. “I should’ve kicked her out when I saw her with that-!” I barely manage to stop myself from finishing that sentence with language no gentleman should use in a lady’s presence. “Never mind. I let her stay so as not to spoil anyone else’s fun by causing a scene. It was the biggest mistake of my life!”

“If there was one thing Lilah Thorne loved as much as money, it was booze. The longer the party lasted, the more drunk she got. She was acting confused and complaining of a headache. I thought it was nothing at first; then she started acting erratically,vomiting, convulsing. I tried to restrain her to keep her from hurting herself or someone else, and she fell…”

The sound of breaking glass echoes in my mind, only drowned out by Veronica voicing exactly what I’m thinking. “Lilah was already dying when she fell onto that glass sculpture… But what would’ve caused - Oh, my God!”

The color drains from her face. “Confusion, headache, vomiting, convulsing… what causes all of those things?”

Realization hits me like a bolt of lightning. “Arsenic.”

Veronica nods.“Exactly! If we find out how Lilah Thorne was poisoned-”

“We find a way to clear my name.”

“But how? That party was a hundred years ago. Any witnesses would be dead by now and any evidence long gone.” She heaves a frustrated sigh. “If only we could turn back time!”

“There is a way.” Staring at me in astonishment, she opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off before she has the chance. “No time for questions! Follow me!”

I lead her through the darkened halls of the Hyperion to a cramped broom closet backstage.

“Mr, Mal- Edward, why are we in the broom closet?” she asks with an annoyed sigh, shoving a mop handle out of her way.

“They say the walls of death and time are thinnest at the end.” The confusion is written all over her face. “This wasn’t always a broom closet; they built an addition on to the theater. In my day, this was the stage door. You’re standing in the exact spot where I died. If I’m to send you back in time, it has to be here.”

Nagging doubt creeps in. There’s no telling what might happen if I send her into the past! She might die or never come back to her own time. “What was I thinking? I can’t ask you to do this! It’s too dangerous…”

“It’s the right thing to do.” Veronica’s voice is meek but her face resolute.

The doorknob glows gold as I touch it. “Touch the doorknob. When you open the door, you should exit into the past.” Her hand trembles, and she hesitates. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, It’s just…” She bites her lip as her voice trails off, and - Are those tears in her eyes? “If I change the past, we’ll never meet. What’s my life going to be like when nobody believes in me?” She sniffles, wiping her eyes. "Never mind, Your life is more important than my happiness."

"Wherever you go, whenever you go, I will always believe in you." It's the only comfort I can give her before she steps through the door, and the gold light swallows her up.

Now it's out of my hands. It's up to her to rewrite my history.